The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas Seminar Reflection pt. 1: Story
It was a great day; like any other, of course. The sun was shining, although there was a thin layer of clouds stretching from place to place, leaving gaps of light blue where it seemed necessary. It was almost harvest day, and I was one to help with the harvesting. Those of us who harvested the grain and crops for Omelas were considered very important, and we all had passion in our job. None of us knew what it felt like to be unhappy.
Everyone in town loved everyone, and we all had a similar sense of love. Still, there was diversity between every one of us, physically and personally. The most compassionate, it seemed, became the harvesters. After all, we were the caretakers of Omelas, and watched after the well-being and nutrition of its citizens.
There were other jobs, too, for different people. We had a range of jobs, just like any town, from gardeners, to paperboys, everything a good town would need. But the harvesters were always of the most compassion. That is why we were kept from the most important secret the city of Omelas wields.
So it was on the day of the year when all of us harvesters worked away gathering crop for the city, when I see a ball suddenly fly in from the distance, bounce once, and continue on toward the city. It wasn’t until a little while later, a boy showed up, asking all of us where the ball could’ve gone. I offered to go and find the ball for the boy.
I followed the direction the ball had headed into the city, and came upon a deep window well, maybe six feet into the ground. That had to be where the ball had rolled. I jumped down into the well. Inside the well, I found the ball, like I had suspected, but then noticed something else. The window at the bottom of the hole was boarded up on either side, but with one or two tiny cracks I don’t think I slide a dime between. I figured it was an area for an art studio, perhaps, and the owner needed privacy.
But walking back with the ball to the fields, something just didn’t feel right. There was something offset about that house back there with the window well. Typically, anyway, the good people of Omelas just kept their blinds open, open to the world outside, allowing the sun’s rays so welcomingly inside. I chose to ignore the thoughts about the house, returned the ball and got back to work.
By the time night had come, and I was sitting in bed, I found myself too restless to sleep. I had to exploit the reason for the closed-in windows of the house. Immediately after I had made the decision to do so, I grabbed a flashlight and walked right over to the house.
The house itself looked so perfectly fine, colorful and in shape, I almost just turned around and returned home. But no, my arm decided to voluntarily move itself and knock on the door. I waited. Maybe an entire minute went by, and no answer. I knocked several more times, more drastically each. Something wasn’t right.
I broke into the house through the window. Inside, I called,
“Hello? Anyone home?” But my question was responded to only by the natural creaking of the house.
After picking the lock to the basement, I made my way down the stairs. The basement was completely empty. But before I decided to leave, I noticed a fraction of a door behind a bookshelf. Scratches marked the floor beneath the legs of the bookshelf from constant movement. I pushed the empty shelf out of the way and opened the door. The smell that the small room displayed in front of me immediately made me hurl. I shined my flashlight in. This was no art studio, there was a small child trapped in here.
Once I had awoken, I felt very queasy, and drool lined the sides of my lips. I was seated at a table, the table on the top floor of the house I had broken into, and several other people were sitting around it. I recognized all of them. They all told me about the child I had seen in the closet. Apparently, I had fainted from all of the fumes. But they explained to me why this child was trapped in the small room, and what its suffering meant to Omelas.
I could not relate to the cruelty presented before me from these people to the kid, and I did not like the idea of it at all. When I had not complied, they told me to head northwest into the mountains the next morning. There was a town where I was headed, visible from a tall ridge (the tallest known to Omelas), and a pathway leading down the ridge found its way directly to this city.
Of course, I took the offer, and made my way to the ridge that was described. Once atop the ridge, I could see a town. It was a busy town, with people running about, going to their jobs, and in the midst of the chaos, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace. It was almost overwhelming. I turned my head for one last glance at Omelas, but when I did, the city was gone. Where I had left sat a simple prairie. Now I understood why all those people before me had walked from Omelas and never returned. I then understood the secret had been held from us harvesters.
Everyone in town loved everyone, and we all had a similar sense of love. Still, there was diversity between every one of us, physically and personally. The most compassionate, it seemed, became the harvesters. After all, we were the caretakers of Omelas, and watched after the well-being and nutrition of its citizens.
There were other jobs, too, for different people. We had a range of jobs, just like any town, from gardeners, to paperboys, everything a good town would need. But the harvesters were always of the most compassion. That is why we were kept from the most important secret the city of Omelas wields.
So it was on the day of the year when all of us harvesters worked away gathering crop for the city, when I see a ball suddenly fly in from the distance, bounce once, and continue on toward the city. It wasn’t until a little while later, a boy showed up, asking all of us where the ball could’ve gone. I offered to go and find the ball for the boy.
I followed the direction the ball had headed into the city, and came upon a deep window well, maybe six feet into the ground. That had to be where the ball had rolled. I jumped down into the well. Inside the well, I found the ball, like I had suspected, but then noticed something else. The window at the bottom of the hole was boarded up on either side, but with one or two tiny cracks I don’t think I slide a dime between. I figured it was an area for an art studio, perhaps, and the owner needed privacy.
But walking back with the ball to the fields, something just didn’t feel right. There was something offset about that house back there with the window well. Typically, anyway, the good people of Omelas just kept their blinds open, open to the world outside, allowing the sun’s rays so welcomingly inside. I chose to ignore the thoughts about the house, returned the ball and got back to work.
By the time night had come, and I was sitting in bed, I found myself too restless to sleep. I had to exploit the reason for the closed-in windows of the house. Immediately after I had made the decision to do so, I grabbed a flashlight and walked right over to the house.
The house itself looked so perfectly fine, colorful and in shape, I almost just turned around and returned home. But no, my arm decided to voluntarily move itself and knock on the door. I waited. Maybe an entire minute went by, and no answer. I knocked several more times, more drastically each. Something wasn’t right.
I broke into the house through the window. Inside, I called,
“Hello? Anyone home?” But my question was responded to only by the natural creaking of the house.
After picking the lock to the basement, I made my way down the stairs. The basement was completely empty. But before I decided to leave, I noticed a fraction of a door behind a bookshelf. Scratches marked the floor beneath the legs of the bookshelf from constant movement. I pushed the empty shelf out of the way and opened the door. The smell that the small room displayed in front of me immediately made me hurl. I shined my flashlight in. This was no art studio, there was a small child trapped in here.
Once I had awoken, I felt very queasy, and drool lined the sides of my lips. I was seated at a table, the table on the top floor of the house I had broken into, and several other people were sitting around it. I recognized all of them. They all told me about the child I had seen in the closet. Apparently, I had fainted from all of the fumes. But they explained to me why this child was trapped in the small room, and what its suffering meant to Omelas.
I could not relate to the cruelty presented before me from these people to the kid, and I did not like the idea of it at all. When I had not complied, they told me to head northwest into the mountains the next morning. There was a town where I was headed, visible from a tall ridge (the tallest known to Omelas), and a pathway leading down the ridge found its way directly to this city.
Of course, I took the offer, and made my way to the ridge that was described. Once atop the ridge, I could see a town. It was a busy town, with people running about, going to their jobs, and in the midst of the chaos, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace. It was almost overwhelming. I turned my head for one last glance at Omelas, but when I did, the city was gone. Where I had left sat a simple prairie. Now I understood why all those people before me had walked from Omelas and never returned. I then understood the secret had been held from us harvesters.
The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas Seminar Reflection pt. 2
Omelas Seminar Reflection Part 2: Why do they show the child to all of their citizens? What do they gain by seeing the child?
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The child in the story of Omelas represents all of the pain and suffering in the city, and is used to teach the citizens. When people see the child, they immediately question why the child is there, in that condition. As it’s explained to them, the child is needed for balance in Omelas. So, with this one child suffering to that extent, no one else in the city had to suffer. However, without the child, would they understand true happiness? I’m guessing they wouldn’t, because the child allows these people to appreciate their lives, and how free they are from stress, suffering and pain all together. Like it says in the story, “…but they all understand that their happiness depend[s] on this child’s abominable misery.” The child represents all of the pain we go through in the real world. Without it, we wouldn’t understand the true virtue of happiness. However, the difference between the real world and the story of Omelas is that in the real world, we all experience stress, pain and suffering first-hand, making us appreciate the better aspects to life, while in the story, the boy suffers for everyone, and therefore, people would need to see him to be happy.
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The Global Village (Globalization) Seminar Reflection
Reactions
1) One idea that was mentioned during the seminar was the fact that the author might not have been talking about how we have already reached this global village, but we are instead working towards it. I connected well to this idea, because I found that it was probably true, because we currently live in a hyper-connected world, and national/racial dilution appears to happen all the time, and yet we still have separate religions, cultures, nationalities, etc. The idea of globalization describes the world as a mutual nationality, a composition of all of nationalities in each person. Obviously, we have not reached this point, but globalization is definitely potential.
Detailed Response
1) One of the major questions that was asked to move the seminar was, “Would you rather live in a world that is hyper-connected, or a world that is not as connected?” In analysis of this question, I have come to the understanding that I already live in a world that is hyper-connected. For example, in Iyer’s article, he talks about the variety of products he is surrounded by in the US that originate from different countries: “I wake up to the sound of my Japanese clock radio, put on a T shirt sent to me by an uncle in Nigeria and walk out into the street, past German cars, to my office.” When I had first read that, it immediately struck me that this world is very mixed in all categories, like products, races, etc. I was also struck with a sensation of peace, because I prefer a world with mixture than a disputed, separated world. However, I am not immersed in this every day, because I live in Durango, which I see as a very white community, and I am not very proud of this.
Recently, I traveled to the city of Las Vegas. This was very interesting
to me, as well as enlightening, because I saw people everywhere of multiple races and cultures. I could see globalization taking place all around me, in couples on the street, small interactions, etc. It gave me a sense of overwhelming peace, and recognition of the fact that racism is not very present in society today. I figured I liked all of this, and finally took pride in our world. For all of these reasons, I would rather live in a hyper-connected world than a world without a lot of connections.
Connections
1) One idea that was mentioned during the seminar was the fact that the author might not have been talking about how we have already reached this global village, but we are instead working towards it. I connected well to this idea, because I found that it was probably true, because we currently live in a hyper-connected world, and national/racial dilution appears to happen all the time, and yet we still have separate religions, cultures, nationalities, etc. The idea of globalization describes the world as a mutual nationality, a composition of all of nationalities in each person. Obviously, we have not reached this point, but globalization is definitely potential.
Detailed Response
1) One of the major questions that was asked to move the seminar was, “Would you rather live in a world that is hyper-connected, or a world that is not as connected?” In analysis of this question, I have come to the understanding that I already live in a world that is hyper-connected. For example, in Iyer’s article, he talks about the variety of products he is surrounded by in the US that originate from different countries: “I wake up to the sound of my Japanese clock radio, put on a T shirt sent to me by an uncle in Nigeria and walk out into the street, past German cars, to my office.” When I had first read that, it immediately struck me that this world is very mixed in all categories, like products, races, etc. I was also struck with a sensation of peace, because I prefer a world with mixture than a disputed, separated world. However, I am not immersed in this every day, because I live in Durango, which I see as a very white community, and I am not very proud of this.
Recently, I traveled to the city of Las Vegas. This was very interesting
to me, as well as enlightening, because I saw people everywhere of multiple races and cultures. I could see globalization taking place all around me, in couples on the street, small interactions, etc. It gave me a sense of overwhelming peace, and recognition of the fact that racism is not very present in society today. I figured I liked all of this, and finally took pride in our world. For all of these reasons, I would rather live in a hyper-connected world than a world without a lot of connections.
Connections
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1) A good connection I made to the content of Iyer’s article is the fact that I’m surrounded by evidence of globalization every day. The products I use or wear were mostly created in different countries than the US. For example, my phone was made in China, I have a sweatshirt from Pakistan, and close to none of my products were made in America. These articles are proof that we do live in a world with a lot of international connections. Another connection I made to the idea of globalization was a trip I made a while ago to Canada. What I’d expected before I went to Canada was to see French or European people everywhere, so when I found a huge variety of races and nationalities of people, I was very surprised.
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